


Dreams Rising

by InsanelyWriteful



Category: Casino Royale - Fandom, Fifty Shades of Grey - All Media Types, Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Valhalla Rising
Genre: Doctor/Patient, Dream Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Nightmares, One Royale Doctor, Reincarnation, Shapeshifting, Sort Of, Therapy, Violence, past trauma, voyeurism?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 11:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16515077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanelyWriteful/pseuds/InsanelyWriteful
Summary: Le Chiffre has been having nightmares. Ones that almost seem like visions to another time, another life. After he enlists the help of Dr. John Flynn, everything seems to only become more complicated yet, at the same time, never easier.My gift to Krey9J for the Spooky Hannibal Fic Exchange.





	Dreams Rising

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Krey9J](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krey9J/gifts).



> I'm so sorry this is late! X'D I always seem to start of these stories by being late.  
> I had a lot of fun writing this and I really looked into it to try to get this right for you, Krey9J. I'm so sorry if I messed anything up or if I didn't get some headcanons right. I've never written for any of the characters before and I haven't seen anything with Fifty Shades(though, I have seen Casino Royale and Valhalla Rising~). So, it was an interesting challenge, but one I enjoyed taking on. ^^ I hope you like it!

Sweat poured down Le Chiffre’s face as it contorted in pain from the agony searing through his body. He tossed and turned, catching his limbs in the blankets of his bed, the trapped feeling only making him struggle all the more. His heart rate picked up, concern and an overwhelming feeling of being watched washing over him.

_The jangle of chains clinking as he walked. Tired and resigned as his feet carried him ever onward. Empty and cold but never beaten. No, never beaten._

Pain speared through him at the flashes of blood and screams his dream conjured up, making him grit his teeth. He’d experienced countless amounts of pain and torture in his life on the wrong side of the law. And he’d caused as much horror in others in his time, too. But, this . . . this was something else. Something beyond him. Beyond human.

_He dropped to his knees, more dead stacking up to weigh on his shoulders. He hardly recognized them as human anymore. He certainly didn’t see that humanity in himself. But, the raw pain in his bloody knuckles cut through the numbness in his body, reminding him that feeling things was possible. That there had been a time when he felt as humans could, he could taste joy, love, and all manner of emotions. But now . . . it was only this. This pain inflicted on his body that could warm the cold, frozen nothingness inside him. A burning heat that almost made him feel alive again. Everything else had faded, but that would always remain. Would always be._

_He put out his arms, waiting to be chained again and returned to his cage. The pain would fade, the cold would return, but the cycle never ended._

_It was how it had always been and how it would always be._

He woke with a start. His heart felt like it was in his throat. A strange sensation buzzed along his nerve endings. He quickly looked around, taking in the contents of his room. He clutched the blankets to ground himself. Only when he felt sure that he was really there did he sigh in relief.

That was another one. Another nightmare.

He couldn’t keep going like this.

It was time he admitted it.

He needed help.

 

**.oOo.**

 

That was how he found himself outside Dr. John Flynn’s office. A therapist highly recommended to him by an associate who boasted about the man’s expertise. He hated what he was about to do, but it had to be done.

He knocked on the door, ready for his scheduled appointment.

It took only a moment before the door opened, revealing Dr. Flynn. Le Chiffre raised an eyebrow at the man. He looked . . . mousy, docile. With his shorter stature and glasses. Still, a threat could come from anywhere and he wouldn’t rule out a single possibility.

His lips parted for barely a moment as he looked at him, seemingly struck in some way. But, it was only for a moment. Le Chiffre chalked it up as shock towards his scar. Most people stared, so it was nothing new. Soon enough, Dr. Flynn flashed him a bright smile.

“Hello, Mr. Le Chiffre. Welcome. I’m Dr. John Flynn. It’s good to meet you.”

Le Chiffre walked into the office and ignored the hand the doctor extended to him to shake. Before things went any further, he began his line of questioning.

“You are well known for being discreet. You know who I am, what kind of man I am,” he started there, probing the doctor first. He’d be furious if any word of him got out to the wrong people.

He nodded. “I’ve had many clients who are wealthy, famous, part of organized groups or need absolute secrecy. I was recommended to you because I am good at what I do and I can keep my mouth shut.”

Le Chiffre studied him, unmoving. “What of people finding out about your involvement with those they’d like to get to know better. Ones who’d benefit from the secrets you know. The ones so many have shared. How is it that you haven’t been taken captive for information?”

Dr. Flynn acknowledged his concern with a slight nod of his head. “We meet privately in secure locations without it being traced back to either of us. You wouldn’t want anyone to know you need therapy and I don’t want anyone to know who I’m helping. I’m only recommended to people who are trusted within their circles. It’s true that I have probably had association with an enemy of yours or someone who would consider you an enemy. I wouldn’t know and I wouldn’t tell. But, connections run long and it’s hard to keep up with who is talking to who. It’s a simple arrangement. I protect you and you protect me.”

Le Chiffre considered him for a time, taking him in and letting him sit in silence for a moment to ponder what would happen next. He would give Dr. Flynn credit. His composure was not shaken by the silence. Nor did he fidget or break eye contact. He was calm, seemingly comfortable with the quiet. Le Chiffre took the time to study Dr. Flynn back, as the young man was no doubt doing to him. Observer’s nature after all. He had his brown hair parted from the side, glasses perched on his nose. When they slid down they revealed a hypnotically captivating set of grey-blue eyes. Had Le Chiffre been a less studious man, he would have set Dr. Flynn aside and labeled him normal or ordinary. But, he had an eye for detail and a liking for the exquisite. And something about Dr. Flynn promised more than a first glance could possibly reveal. Le Chiffre had always enjoyed puzzles. If nothing else, he could enjoy dissecting the man while he tried dissecting him.

He gave a single nod and took a seat on the couch, watching Dr. Flynn pick up some items from his deck before taking his place in the chair across from him. He set a notebook and pen on the table to his left.

“Would you like to begin?” He asked, polite and professional.

Le Chiffre gave him another nod, inviting him to continue.

“I’ve read up on the file you sent over. Nothing in your medical history indicates anything abnormal. I would say you have nothing to worry about, biologically-speaking, but you seem unconvinced. What is it that has you concerned?”

“I don’t know how to explain it precisely to you, Doctor,” Le Chiffre began, wanting to be as truthful as he could allow to be able to get to the bottom of his situation.

“It can be a lot to handle at first,” he sympathized, being calm and gentle. “You don’t have to tell me everything at once. We can look at it one step at a time. Just take one piece and we’ll start from there.”

Le Chiffre was annoyed that the soothing tactic had an effect on him. He wasn’t used to feeling rattled or showing weakness. Usually, doing such in his line of work was a quick way to being killed.

He nodded and calmed himself further before he settled on just one piece of the puzzle to examine. “I’ve been having nightmares.”

He gave him an encouraging nod as he leaned back, putting his pen to his notebook. “When did this start for you?”

“A month ago,” he answered.

“Was there anything abnormal in your usual routine? Anything that was out of place for you around that time?”

“No,” he whispered, frustrated.

“Why don’t you think about it for a moment longer?” he suggested. “Little details are easy to miss. And one small piece could be the key to unraveling the nightmares you’ve been facing.”

It annoyed him. The assumption that he hadn’t thought about it clearly. But, just the same, he reflected on the day before his spree of nightmares, being even more thorough than before.

“No, there was nothing,” his nostrils flared in displeasure. This wasn’t helping _at all._

Dr. Flynn wrote a few more things with a hum. The scratch of his pen across the page made a muscle in Le Chiffre’s face tick. He was close to telling the doctor he didn’t care for his methods, but, thankfully, Dr. Flynn spoke first.

“Would you mind telling me about your nightmares? Are you comfortable with that?”

“I’m not a child,” Le Chiffre gave him look. And yet . . . he found himself hesitating.

“Nightmares aren’t just for children. It can be hard to face them. Even when you know you’re safe,” If he wasn’t so kind with his delivery, Le Chiffre would have snapped at him for the correction. He wasn’t normally so irritable, but he could admit, if only to himself, that the dreams _did_ leave him shaken. “I’m not here to lecture you or put you in an uncomfortable position. Any time you need to stop, you can stop.”

“I _know_ that. Who do you think is paying you?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I’m only here to help,” Dr. Flynn reminded him. “I would say you’re lashing out to defend yourself. This suggests the nightmares are a touchy subject and a source of anxiety for you that follow you even to your waking life. They can affect your work and your health. You need to talk to someone about them if you want to get better. If not me then a trusted friend, family member, associate—”

“I don’t have any of those,” the words came out of his mouth without his permission. He flinched at the sound of the pen moving again.

“I understand that in your line of work, it can be hard to form lasting relationships built on trust, but I would recommend that you try to find a friend. It is beneficial to have bonds with others. Humans are social creatures, even the most solitary ones—”

“Stay on topic, Dr. Flynn. I have no interest in friends. My associates are interchangeable and easily discarded. I can disappear any time I need to and I don’t like loose ends.”

Dr. Flynn frowned at him, obviously wanting to comment, but was wise in that he didn’t. Instead, he asked: “How did your last nightmare start?”

Le Chiffre took a deep breath before he answered. “There was the sound of chains. Wrapped around my wrists and my neck.”

“Chains often symbolize a feeling of being trapped by something. A feeling of helplessness. Did you feel those things in your dream?”

“Yes.”

More writing and then: “What happened next?”

“I was walking. I was being led somewhere.”

“Perhaps a fear of others having control over you? Or being helpless to your fate? Tell me, Le Chiffre, do you ever find yourself worrying about being caught and made to face justice?”

He frowned. “It is a possibility that will always exist for me. I don’t want to be caught and I like to think I won’t ever be caught. But, I made peace with that a long time ago. I was not scared in my dream. I felt . . . resigned.”

“Resigned? Would you elaborate on that feeling? What about the situation made you feel that way?”

His brows drew together as he looked back on the moment. “It’s difficult to describe. It’s like . . . I already knew what it felt like to be there. Like I’d been there for longer than I could remember. Like the chains and the being walked around was just . . . my life. Maybe I’d tried to leave before, maybe I’d tried to fight, but everything felt so pointless. Even if I got away, where would I go? What would I be?” He felt the tingling sensation crawl up his spine again. He blinked, feeling a haze crawl over him. “There was nothing to who I was anymore. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t connect with anyone. Except—”

He looked around the room and frowned, everything feeling slightly unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. His head ached, but that was nothing new to him. Maybe the last punch had knocked his brain around a little too much.

“Except?” His gaze shot across the room, landing on the unfamiliar figu—Dr. Flynn. Yes, he knew him. He blinked again, retracing his thoughts to where he’d left off, wanting to answer the man’s question.

“The boy,” he whispered. “The boy who was kind to me. He was trapped just like me. Lost just like me. I felt a connection to him. A kinship. I slaughtered every man at that camp except for the boy. I would have left him behind. I don’t know how to care for a child and I never thought someone would want to be near me. But, he followed me and I kept him safe. I always kept him safe. And that made me feel.”

“Feel?” Dr. Flynn encouraged him to go on.

“Just feel,” he answered. “Something beyond pain. Something that made me a human after all.”

“That’s very good progress, Mr. Le Chiffre,” Dr. Flynn complimented.

He blinked at the strange name, lost for a moment, then it was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him. Le Chiffre jolted from his seat, eyes wide as he looked all around him.

“Mr. Le Chiffre?” he inquired, catching his attention.

“What? I,” his heart beat heavily in his chest as he tried not to let the panic overtake him. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

“Take deep breaths. Reliving stressful situations can cause a lot of strain. You’re in my office, you’re safe.” Dr. Flynn soothed, grounding him.

“What’s my name?” he asked.

Dr. Flynn gave him a quizzical look. “I beg your pardon?”

“Say my name again,” then he added: “Please.”

Dr. Flynn said the words calm and steady. “Your name is Le Chiffre. Your birth name is Jean Duran. You’re okay.”

Le Chiffre breathed deeply, latching onto the sound of his name and recognizing it fully. For what almost seemed like the first time, disturbingly enough.

“There’s nothing to be concerned about.”

He choked on a humorless laugh. “I doubt that, doctor.”

“It’s quite common for dreams to have lasting effects. Dreams hold a lot of weight and meaning to them. There’s probably something there that your subconscious is trying to tell you. Many times, our sleeping minds are a way for things we know deep inside to reach out to our waking minds. Most times, however, it comes out a little . . .” he seesawed his hand to showcase indecisiveness. “Jumbled.”

Le Chiffre nodded, taking in his words. It did seem like something was trying to tell him something. Something beyond him. Though, it felt far from a simple dream or lingering illusions. Then, his mental clock went off. He’d always had a good mind for numbers. Even if not for maintaining his sanity. “I believe our time is up, doctor.”

Dr. Flynn checked his watch and his eyebrows rose to his hairline in surprised awe. “Wow, right on the dot.” He turned his way and smiled. “That’s a nifty trick.”

For the first time in weeks, an easy smile stretched across Le Chiffre’s face. “I’ve always had a way with numbers.”

“Explains the name,” his smile brightened, warm and kind.

“Yes.”

Dr. Flynn got up and offered Le Chiffre his hand to shake. He wasn’t usually one for invasion of his space or for casual contact, but something about the therapist was so . . . easy. He was easy to talk to. Easy to be around. Easy to smile with. And he was easy to shake hands with.

His grip was firm but gentle, not looking to taunt or showing weakness. Just a nice offer of friendly contact. His hand was warm and not sweaty. It was a comfortable hold. It seemed the hand of a therapist. Not calloused or scarred. No hesitation or worry.

It was nice to be treated in such a way. It’s why he made no complaints or remarks as Dr. Flynn talked to him so casually while he showed him the way out.

He was almost out the door when he paused in the doorway. He put a hand to the frame and partially turned back to face him. “This went better than I thought. I would like to do this again.”

He nodded, almost returning to the serious but relatable therapist if not for the pride of a job well done twinkling in his eyes. “I’m yours whenever your schedule allows.”

Le Chiffre turned and started walking away before the doctor could see the corner of his mouth kick up.

_I like the sound of that._

 

**.oOo.**

 

LeChiffre shot out of bed, eyes wide and breathing fast.

 _It was real._ He thought as he tossed his covers aside. _It was too real!_

He went to his laptop and started researching. There had to be something. Knights, religion, the boat. _Anything_ to give him somewhere to look. Just something to go off of. He scoured page after page. Refining his search when another detail occurred to him. Eyes scanning every word, not letting a piece of information pass by. The answers were out there. They _had_ to be.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be too _much_ information for him when it came to the knights fighting for Jerusalem. And nothing specific was standing out to him. His nostrils flared in displeasure at the lack of results. He turned his search towards dreams and meanings. And what _that_ led him to made him pause. He stared at the screen, considering his options.

Then, he decided it was time for another meeting with Dr. Flynn.

 

**.oOo.**

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Le Chiffre,” he was welcomed into the office with a warm expression and an open gesture to come in.

“I can’t say the same, doctor,” he said coolly.

Dr. Flynn adjusted his glasses. “Ah.”

“I’m not fond of being examined by others,” Le Chiffre elaborated to ease the awkwardness that overcame the doctor. It was a kindness he didn’t offer many.

“I can see why you would feel that way,” he invited Le Chiffre to take a seat as he took his own. “Tell me, what’s on your mind?”

“Too much lately,” he curled his lip in displeasure but continued on. “The dreams persist. Worse and worse, in fact. More vivid and with more detail.”

“Dreams can expand when someone starts looking to them to get to the root of a problem. Your subconscious may be strengthening its resolve now that you’re paying attention.”

He acknowledged that that made sense. “I want this over and done with already. I’m tired of my mind being the playground to something else.” If only he could torture _himself_ for information.

“It’s frustrating, but don’t give up. I think you’re making good progress.”

Le Chiffre turned to look at him, examining the kindly face and eyes that seemed to be filled with an endless amount of care and patience. He frowned at the doctor. “How can you be so sure of that?”

Dr. Flynn’s mouth kicked up at the corner, a soft huff of a laugh escaping his lips. “You’ve reached out for help. That’s more than most people are capable of. I’d say that is a good step in the right direction.”

There was something about the man. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He had a certain way about him that made Le Chiffre _want_ to trust him. Awakened something deep inside that ached to reach out.

“Doctor, what are your thoughts on,” he hated his hesitation over the word and tried to cover it with nonchalance. “Reincarnation?”

He feigned perfect casual relaxation as Dr. Flynn paused. He laced his hands together and studied him for just a moment. “I think it is possible. Was there something about reincarnation you thought would be worth exploring?”

Relief from a tension he hadn’t known he’d been carrying poured into him. “I would like that, yes.”

“Very well,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “What is it that makes you bring up reincarnation?”

Le Chiffre sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be believed, yet still something inside seemed to beg him to be honest. “You will think I’m crazy.”

Dr. Flynn shook his head. “No, I won’t. There are people who need help. There’s no such thing as crazy people.”

Warmth bubbled up inside as he felt a soothing calm flow over him. “These dreams . . . I’m starting to think more and more that they’re not dreams. That they’re . . . memories.” He grit his teeth slightly. “It’s not only that it feels real. It feels like I’ve _lived_ them. Like they’re moments in my life that happened just the other day. I don’t feel like myself when I’m in them. But,” he frowned, trying to find the words to explain. “At the same time, I feel more like myself than I have in my whole life. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“That _is_ an interesting occurrence,” Dr. Flynn spoke after a moment of silence. “In all honesty, Mr. Le Chiffre, I’m not sure what to make of that.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he huffed, crossing his arms.

Dr. Flynn rested his chin in his palm and rubbed a finger against his mouth in thought. Le Chiffre found his gaze narrowing in on the action, almost entranced by the slow back and forth. The plushness pulling taunt and puffing full. Unconsciously, he licked his own lips, feeling a phantom rubbing sensation as if the action had been done to him.

“Maybe you’ve been at this too long,” his suggestion broke through Le Chiffre’s thoughts making him blink. “Too much focus can blind you from finding the solution to the problem just as easily as negligence. Perhaps a day of relaxation would help take your mind off these dreams.”

Le Chiffre considered the suggestion. The truth was, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to take his mind off work long enough to relax. And any free moment he’d had recently was devoted to trying to decipher his dreams. It was quite possible that he needed a break.

“Very well,” he stood, making up his mind. “Then, you’d best collect your things.”

Dr. Flynn gave him an inquisitive look, his brows drawing together.

“I doubt I’ll be able to take my mind off things without a suitable distraction. I trust you will be competent for the task. You will be appropriately compensated for your time.”

“But, why me?” He asked, his blue eyes never looking more innocent or dreamy than they did right then. Full of wonder and curiosity.

Le Chiffre gave him a mocking smile. “What are friends for?”

 

**.oOo.**

 

John wouldn’t say he felt uneasy, per se. More, concerned. Le Chiffre was turning out to be an interesting case. He’d come across his type before. Distant, cold, and ruthless. That sort of lifestyle always had repercussions. If it meant stilted emotions, troubles with expression, repression . . . there were all sorts of consequences. And, as much as he’d like to help Le Chiffre, he was rather worried about their current path. He would let it play out for now to see if it helped the man at all. It was a good sign for him to continue reaching out and exploring new options, after all. But, leaving the office setting and delving into the personal life of a patient was a major break in professionalism.

Still . . . he couldn’t hide that his reasons for agreeing weren’t entirely professional. And therein lay the problem. No matter how beautiful or charming he found Le Chiffre to be, he was there to help ease his troubled mind. Not indulge in . . .

He took a deep breath, shifting next to Le Chiffre in the car, inhaling his scent. Alluring and dangerous.

Not indulge in fantasy, he reminded himself sternly, tamping down the longing.

So, in an effort to distract himself he asked, “Where are we going?”

“Is there somewhere you wanted to go?” Le Chiffre asked, his piercing gaze turning on him.

John gulped. The man’s eyes were truly a marvel. They never failed to strike him down to the core. True, only one brown one remained to look at him in such an all-consuming manner, but the filmy blue and the scar that ran along the other did nothing to diminish the beauty of his face. In fact, it enhanced it somehow. It was a face John felt he could look at forever and never stop being stunned speechless. He’d felt so since the first time they’d met.

He frowned, regaining his resolve as he looked forward, intent on ignoring the effect the other man had on him. “This isn’t about me or what I want. It’s about you and how to help you relax.”

“Then, I suppose it will be a surprise.” He could hear the smile in his voice.

He’d blame it on the amused tone setting the mood that he decided to tease back. “Should I be worried you’re going to feed me to the fishes? Or am I the lucky winner of a pair of new cement shoes~?”

“I think strapping you to a table and letting a laser slowly crawl up and cut your body in two sounds more dramatic.”

“Kinky.” And John could have slapped himself silly for letting that slip by without a second thought.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Le Chiffre raise a brow at him, though amusement still played about his mouth. “You have no idea.”

 _Let’s keep it that way._ John mentally pleaded.

Their destination turned out to be at a restaurant owned by one of Le Chiffre’s associates. He’d reassured him of such when they arrived, alleviating any fears of being exposed. After they were seated, he found himself frowning again, the setting feeling far too intimate.

After they ordered their food, John clasped his hands together. “So, how are you feeling?”

“Completely relaxed,” he replied.

He noted the stiff posture and strict disposition. “You’re lying.”

“And you’re astute,” Le Chiffre saluted him with his glass of wine.

“Why did you come here, if it isn’t going to help you relax?”

“Because I’m hungry and a restaurant is generally where one can find food.”

John gave him an unimpressed look. “Playing games and living in denial is not going to help you get better.”

Le Chiffre returned his unimpressed look. “I’m starting to think that nothing is going to make me better.”

He swallowed, struck by the sudden stinging honesty. “That’s why I’m here. To remind you when you’re at your lowest that there is still hope. I’m not going to let you give up on a better future for yourself.”

Le Chiffre studied him as he so often liked to do. John held his gaze, steady and strong. He would never allow someone to give up on themselves. Never.

Le Chiffre ended up sighing. “This is something I’ve never said before, but okay: You win.” He froze him to the spot with an icy glare. “Enjoy your victory, Dr. Flynn.”

“Please, Mr. Le Chiffre, there’s no winners or losers in this. And we’re not in my office right now. You can call me John.” Offering the casual courtesy was dangerous, but maintaining a strict doctor-patient narrative in a relaxed environment would do Le Chiffre no favors.

“So long as you drop the “Mr.” Makes me sound like your master or something,” he huffed, running a finger down the stem of his glass.

John swallowed for entirely different reasons at that. The idea of calling Le Chiffre _master_ . . . it made his insides tingle. He resisted the shiver that ghosted down his spine. And that finger toying with the glass was hardly helping his arousal. Images of Le Chiffre toying with him just the same. Tearing him apart with just that one finger . . .

He sucked in a breath, snapping out of his dangerous train of thought.

 _Damn me!_ He cursed himself.

“D-deal.”

Aside from a single raised eyebrow after that, dinner went smoothly. Le Chiffre was pleasant to talk to. Smart, brilliant really. A real genius when it came to numbers, too. John smiled, imagining Le Chiffre would be pretty good with the stock market. Especially after learning of his poker hobby. The food was just as excellent as the company. If he hadn’t been seduced before, he certainly was now.

“Thank you. I had a really nice time.” He tilted his head, pushing his glasses back into place. “How did the evening turn out for you?”

“Better than I thought,” Le Chiffre responded with a hum of approval. “Your pay for this time will be in your account by the end of the day.”

“No,” John put a hand up, declining the offer. “I don’t want to be paid for this. I came tonight as your friend. Whether you see it that way or not, that’s why I came.”

And the look Le Chiffre directed at him was so incredibly intense. It washed over him, nearly making him close his eyes in response. He wasn’t quite sure if the look was displeasure at his defiance or some kind of gratefulness turned up to eleven.

John knew he was playing with fire. Risking exposure, breaking the code of ethics, putting himself in danger, but he just couldn’t seem to help himself. “Would you like to do something together again sometime?”

“Wanting to surprise me this time, John?” he smirked, a teasing note to his voice.

“Maybe I am,” he teased right back.

It was sad to see Le Chiffre’s smile drop. “However, I do not like surprises.”

John ducked his head and bit his lip, feeling a little stupid for that one. Of course the criminal mastermind with enemies around every corner would feel unsafe and threatened by the idea of a surprise.

“I’m sorry,” he amended, backtracking. “I only meant that we could meet up somewhere more private. Less risks and concerns. I was thinking something outdoorsy. Like, a boat ride?”

Le Chiffre stiffened, something flickering in his eyes. “No boats.”

John backtracked again, knowing a trigger when he saw one. “Maybe a hike?”

That only seemed to make Le Chiffre more uncomfortable. “I’m tired of walking.” He said it . . . differently somehow. Weary, tired. He suddenly looked worn down.

“Sorry, I keep messing this up,” he rubbed the back of his neck, nervously, and wondered if maybe he should let it go and back off.

“No, it’s—” he shook his head. “How about the beach? Somewhere warm. Fresh air, blue skies.”

“There are crowds at the beach,” he pointed out.

“Not at my private villa.”

John’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. “Ah. Right. Of course. How could I have missed that? Everyone has their own beach.”

Le Chiffre smiled, amused.

And they did meet at Le Chiffre’s villa, enjoying more of each other’s company as they lazed about in the sun. Seeing Le Chiffre look so serene warmed his heart far more than the sun could ever dream of. And when the day ended and Le Chiffre invited him out again, against all his good sense, John accepted.

Weeks went by at that pace before John knew it. So much so that it became common to see a text from Le Chiffre or a surprise visit to his home. Really, it felt more like dating than friendly outings. But, John would try to explain the feeling away with the fact that they met so often in private. Naturally, the settings would make things feel more . . . intimate than they actually were.

Though, if he were honest with himself, John was starting to care less and less about being professional or drawing a line between them. He dreamed about Le Chiffre constantly.

He wanted him desperately. Sometimes more than he could handle.

Away from his hopeless case of blue balls, Le Chiffre wasn’t showing any progress, either. In fact, his dreams only seemed to be getting worse. And affecting him more strongly, too. Some days, he almost seemed like a different person. But, the stranger thing was how those episodes never seemed to worry either of them. Despite the drastic changes, Le Chiffre still felt like himself.

It was rather curious.

 

**.oOo.**

 

He woke from his nightmare, but everything seemed different. More than usual. Much like the last few nights, it didn’t feel like he’d left the dream behind him. Rather, like he’d brought the dream with him into the waking world.

He shivered, rolling his shoulders, trying to dispel the strange sensation coursing through his body. He looked to his phone, considering calling John. He knew without a doubt that the sound of his voice would soothe him. It always seemed to. And something felt particularly off inside him. It was different from the feeling he got of his other life—as he’d taken to calling it. It felt like a sort of shifty feeling. Like a ripple rolling through his body.

He reached for his phone, longing for John, when something inside him just _snapped._ He dropped to the bed in a tumble. His bones cracked, shrinking and deforming before twisting and forming anew. His head snapped backwards, eyes stark-wide open, mouth hanging slack in a silent scream. His teeth shrank and became sharper as his jaw unhinged, lengthening to a point, his skin hardening. His eyes split down the middle of his head as his skull shifted, taking on a new shape of its own. He could feel his feet lengthening and his toes shifting apart and coming together. His toenails lengthened into sharp points, the skin around them hardening and wrinkling. All the while, his legs shortened, becoming so much smaller than the rest of his body. He didn’t feel like himself anymore, but he could hardly contemplate anything through the agony of his body twisting itself into something new. His skin prickled, goose bumps skittering across his flesh making him shiver. Then, all at once, feathers burst from his flesh, sprouting everywhere as they covered his entire body.

When it was finally over, he lay in his bed, quivering. Nothing felt right anymore. Nothing felt like _him._ It couldn’t be real yet it felt all too real. He opened one eye that wasn’t where it was supposed to be at all. He lifted his arm only to see a wing twitch before him. He gasped, but all that came from him was a screeching noise. That made him panic all the more. He flailed, feathers flying his in panic, as he struggled to stand up straight on his new legs to look at the mirror across the room. What he saw defied all imagination. Defied _reality itself._

He was a bird.

He screeched again in outraged horror. He was an eagle!

He stared. And stared. And kept looking. Part of him hoped if he faced the situation long enough it would prove to be a cruel joke and dissipate. But, as the minutes wore on, he continued to see a bird. He glared, letting the panic settle so his resolve could return to him. He narrowed his eyes in his inspection of himself. As far as he could see, he was all bird. Nothing even giving away a glimmer that he had ever been human. Except for his eye. The one that was afflicted with haemolacria. As he gazed at the differently colored eye and the scar running across his face a bloody tear welled up, staining the feathery fluffy around his eye. He blinked, shaking his head as he buried it into his wing, wiping the offending liquid away. That’s when something struck him. A flash of . . . _something._

_The feeling of gliding through the air, open and free. A peace descending on him like nothing he’d ever known before. He could go anywhere, do whatever he pleased._

He curled his talons and shifted his wings, glancing at the open window. Well, if he was a bird, he might as well experience the . . . benefits. He stepped carefully to the edge of his bed and looked down. He did a few hops and expanded his wings. After that, he gently flapped them a few times, trying to get used to them. Trying to figure the pattern out. When he felt comfortable he closed his eyes and jumped.

And, much to his annoyance, flapped out of control before hitting the floor. He ruffled in displeasure, giving his wings a fierce glare. He hopped around, feeling unbelievably foolish. Before he knew it, that odd feeling was rushing up his spine again. A tingle forming at the back of his head. He closed his eyes to the sensation, understanding pouring into his brain. Suddenly, it was like he knew how to fly. Like he’d always known somehow.

His beak parted in awe before he frowned as much as he was able. There was something very wrong with him. If the becoming a bird thing didn’t make that obvious enough then the sudden information dump certainly confirmed it. For now, he put what he couldn’t explain or handle behind him, choosing to lose himself to the need to fly, to let his instincts take over.

When he next opened his eyes, he was outside, gliding on the wind, soaring through the night sky. It was even better than his mind had supplied! Nothing could ever compare to the very real feeling of the wind brushing through his feathers. The chill of the air filling his heart with an excitement he hadn’t felt in many, many years.

He let himself get lost in the moment, drifting wherever he pleased.

 

**.oOo.**

 

His mind wandered as he flew, as if it were in a trance. That odd tingling sensation filled his mind. Though, the sensation hardly felt foreign anymore. It felt familiar, comfortable. As odd as all the things that had been happening to him recently, he was starting to feel normal. Okay. For what felt like the first time.

His mind seemed to stretch out, beyond him, seeking, searching. Someone was calling for him. A happy hum buzzed through his brain when he registered that it was John. Before he knew it, he was outside John’s house, at his window. Something had called him there, his senses latching on to the familiar and being drawn towards it.

Though, what waited for him was still a shock to him, on all levels. His sharp eyes stared, unable to look away.

John lay on his bed, eyes closed, still in his slumber. But . . . he was panting, his chest expanding and contracting rapidly. He tossed his head from side to side and cried out. A hand ran up his chest, ruffling his shirt up, exposing his hard nipples to the cool night air. His other hand was stroking furiously at his erection, hips snapping up into the motions. He threw his head back on a groan, neck arching beautifully, begging to be bitten and marked. His moans were like music, a song that belonged to him and him alone, dancing through the air, inviting and alluring.

“Le Chiffre!” he whined, stroking his cock faster, desperately for release.

His eyes widened, his heart rate picking up with the knowledge that John was dreaming of _him._ That the display, the need, the aching, it was for _him._ But, not just him anymore.

_Them._

His mind reached out once again, his own brain following along with the tingling sensation that was guiding him. The _other_ part of him. When his eyes flickered open, taking in the scene, he noted the dreamy landscape, the distortion all around.

But, that wasn’t the first thing he noticed.

He’d have to be deaf and blind to miss John, completely naked with his legs high in the air, being pounded into a moaning mess by _himself._ His eyes narrowed, wanting John for his own, even if he had to take him from his own dream self. With that thought in mind, he stepped forward, causing John’s dream self to pause and glance at him. John’s breath heaved out of him and he clutched at the dream, wanting him to continue, obviously so close he could hardly stand it.

A part of him noted his reflection, his eyes seeming to see everything at once from so many different angles, feeding him the key information in pieces. His left eye was closed, the scar running over it more brutal and vicious than before. But, it was only a minor note in the back of his head as he made his way over to John. Beautiful, panting, needy John. Who wanted him. Needed him. Was as interested in ways he’d only hoped were true.

John seemed to finally take notice of him, peeking over the shoulder of his dream lover. His jaw dropped in awe, grey-blue eyes glazed with want. The dream disappeared and John, lazily, slumped to the ground, legs open, looking up at him, invitingly. He towered over him, making him shiver and close his eyes. He keened, taking matters into his own hands as he stroked himself just as he was doing in the real world.

His cock swelled at the sight, arousal rushing through his body. He grabbed John’s hand and stopped him. He whined in protest when it was lifted above his hand and the other came up to join it. He—they?—loomed over him, bringing his leg so he could thrust forward, grinding their erections against each other. John called out, choking on a name. His name?

He flickered, images flashing through, connecting to John’s dream. Chains, blood, violence. What they were doing was too much. He couldn’t fathom it. He couldn’t believe it. The warmth, the content, the acceptance. John gasped as he jerked away, clutching his head, staggering away.

Then, he fell, into the mud, struck in the back of the head. Blow after blow assaulted him before he could regain his bearings. This. He knew this. He understood this. He snarled, lashing out, snapping a neck, beating another to death with a rock.

Everything changed. He slammed the ax down with all his might, striking through muscle and bone with a sickening crunch.

A shocked noise of fear and concern drew his attention. John was staring at him, mouth open, afraid and confused. A man, one of those that would take, would hurt, drew towards John.

He could not allow that to happen.

He charged towards him and dove past him, tackling his would be attacker to the ground, bringing his fist down on him again and again and again and again. Over and over until the man stopped screaming. Stopped moving. Until there was only red and the slick pulsing sound of knuckles meeting exposed flesh.

“Le Chiffre!”

He kept it up, attacking, never ending, no relief, no hope, no mercy.

John tugged on his shoulder, eyes wide with fear. Of course. Fear. Always fear. Never anything else. So much better. More real than what had been shown to him before.

A flicker. Rocks. Acceptance. The weapons came down, striking him, felling him. He could feel himself slipping away. A life without joy, without love, without kindness. But, it was over.

There would be no more pain.

A scream snapped his mind back into place and he nearly fell from his perch, unused to his bird body and suddenly dizzy from his return to reality. He looked inside only to lock eyes with John, wildly disheveled and as startled as a rabbit ready to flee.

Hesitantly, slowly, John got up from his bed. He made his way to the window and they never looked away from one another. Not for a second. He paused, only for a moment, before opening the window with a heavy slide against the wooden frame.

He gulped before he whispered. “Le Chiffre?”

He nodded.

He could sense John’s rising panic. He flew into the room and landed on the arm John put up on instinct to defend himself. After John dared to look at him again he closed his eyes and butted his head against John’s. Nuzzling his feathery body against him. Warmth spread through him when he felt John relax, the tension draining from him.

A finger stroked along his body and he nearly cooed from how wonderful it felt. His need for touch, comfort and affection flared inside him. Wanting more. Wanting everything from John.

“But . . . you’re not just Le Chiffre, are you?”

He opened his eyes and shook his head, confirming both their suspicions. He didn’t know how it happened, but he wasn’t just him. He was them. And he’d been them for longer than he’d been aware. It was just starting to become clear.

John sighed. “I . . . I just don’t believe this. But, I felt that. I felt how _real_ it was. You were right. I can’t even begin to explain it. I thought—” he shuddered. “I thought I was going to die a few times there.”

Protective fury surged inside him and he screeched softly in protest. His anger was quelled quickly enough by John’s continued petting.

“And you,” John hesitated. “You were . . . scary.”

He winced, a soft, vulnerable feeling coming close to shattering. He cared for John. More than he could handle. He was the one thing in his life that wasn’t cold. He made him feel less empty.

Like he wasn’t alone anymore.

“You’ve always been intense, but that was something else.” He bit his lip and that brought back flashes of wants and desires that he ached to make up to John.

John gasped, some of the desires projecting towards him. A furious blush rushed across his face. He glanced away, embarrassed. “It’s not nice to spy on people.” He mumbled.

_I’m sorry._

John looked back into his eyes, his lips parting from the shock of hearing the dual voice in his mind. He smiled, embarrassment still affecting his nerves. “It’s okay. I guess how I feel is pretty obvious now. But, I think that’s the least of our worries right now.” He gestured to the feathers.

He flapped his great wings, pulling away to the other side of the room. There, the transformation began all over again, cracking his bones and rearranging his being until he was human once again. He stood tall, hiding his own nervousness behind false bravado.

John seemed wowed by his appearance. He stepped forward with his arm out-stretched. “Your hair . . .” he rubbed a lock between his fingers. “It’s longer. And,” his brows furrowed in concern, fingers tracing the more ragged scarring around his eye. The milky blue still remained, barely peeking out between the deformed flesh. He shivered, closing his eyes at being handled so carefully. “Your scar.”

The next words out of John’s mouth shocked him more than anything else he could have possibly said in that moment. “You’re beautiful.”

His lip curled and he shook his head, denying the lie. John cupped his cheek, making him look into his beautiful blue eyes. “Yes. You are.”

His lips parted in shock, disbelieving his words.

He smiled at him. “If I have to, I’ll tell you that every day until you believe me.”

His mouth opened and closed, no words coming to him.

“Won’t you talk to me?” he implored.

“I . . . I forgot I could speak,” he breathed. “I couldn’t back then. They . . . they made sure of it.”

“Monsters,” he whispered furiously.

It was his turn to cup John’s face. “No. The monster was me.”

“You’re no monster,” he said, firm, showing there would be no fighting him on that.

They looked at each other in silence as they had done so many times before. There was always so much to explore. Something new to see.

John smiled at him, exhausted, weary, gentle and caring all at once. “This is incredible. I hardly know where to go from here. Are you okay?” He cupped his face again, offering comfort.

He returned the smile, if only slightly. “Better than I’ve been in a long, long time.” He curled his fingers over John’s hand and turned his head to kiss the fingers, reassuring him back.

Tears welled up, making his eyes shimmer. “This is . . . so much.” He laughed, nervous and unsure. “I don’t even know what to call you now.”

“Jean,” he bumped their foreheads together, closing his eyes as he let John’s presence relax him. “I didn’t  . . . I didn’t have a name before. And I’m tired of my fake name, my fake life. I don’t want it anymore.”

“What do you want?” John asked, ever the therapist.

Jean opened his eyes, feeling at peace with himself. All of himself. “You.”

John smiled. “You already have me.”

Then he pulled Jean down into a kiss. He hesitated for only a moment before he returned it, pouring all of the passion and longing and love he’d kept locked away for far too long. There was still so much to figure out, so much to sort through, so many life-changing decisions to make. His entire life had turned upside down.

But, they would get through it together.

He was sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to do a combining of Le Chiffre and One Eye and it was fun to mesh the personalities and show their similarities~ Also, I chose for Le Chiffre/One Eye to shift into a bird because One Eye, I like to think, is based on or is Odin. And Odin would shift into an eagle. ^o^ I had fun with little tidbits like that or throwing in some references to Le Chiffre being a Bond villain. I read those snippets of John's character you found in the books and I based a lot of what I did with his character in here from that. It was fun to work with him~


End file.
